no one really understands anything we try to say
so why do we say anything at all?
we could mingle in coffee shops forever and we would make no change
if you think that what you're saying is being heard you are wrong
people would rather sit in front of a TV and have **** spewed into their brains
rather than read a book
or simply, just listen

we are inadequate and we a laughing stocks
if you think of yourself as an outcast you are probably right
but it is only because
society has taught people
that being creative is something that only an askew mind does
a mind that is torn
and in the seams lies creativity and originality
and sadly both of those things are frowned upon nowadays

so remain in our coffee shops and stayed hunched over your typewriter
because if you are caught being something different
you will be no more than me

Birthdays never change anything
Yet there is always a pang of joy in my heart
Knowing that Death is definitely closer
My old friend, I cannot wait to see you again

We knew all hope was lost when we wallowed in sheds with only a candle for warm
The coldest February could of froze us to our cores
But no force of nature was prepared to face us
No gale wind can knock down pillars of love that we were

Last night I looked in my back yard
There was nothing there but an empty shed
Empty memories

Don't be so constant and then swiftly drift away
Because at the end of the day we like to start again
We begin when the sun sets
And I will try my best to forget
All the wrong that I have done

You can lift me up, yes you . . . please stop doubting yourself
You were the light I was so long looking for
But you're headed west, go on chase the sun
I guess I will see you soon
Don't try to find me when you come back

It is never about the coffee.
It is never about forgetting to put the cap on the toothpaste.

What it is about is the affair you had while I was away.
We like to cover the big things up with the small.
We drape the elephant in the room with veils that are fights about my ****** parking job and lack of ***.

You will never be straight forward and simply tell me that I am not good enough.
You will never tell me that you hate my lazy demeanor or loath my entire side of the family.
What you will tell me is that I snore too noisily and that you get no sleep because of it.

I will never tell you that I know what you have done.
I will never tell you that I am actually sterile so the child we almost had was not mine.
I will however yell at you when the coffee is cold and when we are out of creamer.

But... it is never about the coffee my dear.

I remember the first time I killed a girl. She loved me. I loved her.

I would hand her Xanax and cigarettes. One time she handed me her heart on a silver platter and seductively smirked whilst saying, "Dig in."

She then, unfortunately, was burdened with my child. We decided to purge my family tree. We did so faster than a gallon of Roundup kills a single dandelion. I had no desire to let my family tree grow, it is a horrid thing.

Soon after she was filled with grief. So then I killed her. I used my divine nonexistent influence to perform a task that she was oh so familiar with. I teleported from Albany to Long Island in a matter of seconds and hand fed her all her medications, then her mother heart medications along with all my own stock pile of pills I used for recreation. Her heart rate began to slow. She died. I laughed.

I now have two tear drops tattooed on my face.